In Dead Man, Jarmusch rebuilt the Western from the inside out; 14 years later, he did the same for the espionage thriller. The Limits of Control, gorgeously shot by Wong Kar-wai’s DP of choice Christopher Doyle, is a spy film gutted of action, a mystery that takes place almost entirely in the time between plot points, a James Bond movie whose Bond hails from the Ivory Coast rather than Scotland. (He’s played by Isaach De Bankolé, who, incidentally, appeared in Casino Royale—as a terrorist.) “The Lone Man” at the film’s center drifts through a lineup of picturesque Spanish settings and a series of ritualized one-on-one meetings, each involving paired espressos, swallowed messages, and Eastern-inflected philosophizing. He’s a man on a mission, but we get the sense that the goal, which involves a corporate compound run by a world-weary Bill Murray, is less important than the steps along the way. With its museum digressions, deadly guitar strings, and bouts of restroom-stall tai chi, The Limits of Control is, as the title suggests, an intoxicating vision of art making and consumption at their freest.

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